


Icarus, Untethered

by perspi



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Avatar: The Legend of Korra references, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9802763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perspi/pseuds/perspi
Summary: What if Harmonic Convergence occurred while Sam was in the Raft? What if the Raft was near the North Pole during the Convergence?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steflovessamwilson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=steflovessamwilson).



> FINALLY! I have finished my gift for the SamSteveGiftExchange for steflovessamwilson -- Darling, I hope you like it!! Many, many thanks to the understanding mods for letting me land this so late.

  


The first time it happens, Sam doesn’t register it.

He wakes with a start, hands up in the air before he can blink in the brightness of the cell. Right, he’s still here, the cell as mercilessly bright and unchanging as ever, the thin blanket on the floor and a breeze stirring the air.

He rolls back up in the blanket and does his best to fall back asleep. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder about the breeze.

  


* * *

  


The second time it happens, they’re actually in Wakanda — Wakanda, Sam still can’t quite believe it — and Sam’s exhausted, having made sure his medical exam was short and sweet, made sure Wanda and Clint and Scott were on the way to okay, having had to peel himself out of the biggest, warmest Steve hug he’s ever had the luxury of experiencing (because if he didn’t he would _cling back_ and oh, the instinct to fight that urge is too long held). He just wants to sleep, for like, a week in a dark room with the windows open wide so he can hear the little garden waterfall outside. He peels out of his shirt and tosses it toward the chair in the corner, only the trajectory is terrible, even in his haze he can see it.

Except the shirt makes it to the chair. It flaps like it was caught on a clothesline, flips once, and settles on the seat of the chair like Sam had walked over and draped it.

“Huh,” Sam grunts before falling on the bed.

  


* * *

  


Sam does not, in fact, sleep for a week. He doesn’t actually sleep for more than four hours, because that’s when those fuckers would blare alarming noises for ten minutes, just to scare them awake, and because he’s achy and sore from the fucking _questioning._

This time when he gestures in frustration and a sheaf of papers goes sliding off the desk on the other side of the room, Sam’s awake enough, _aware_ enough, to be a little alarmed.

“What the fuck.”

So this time he concentrates, tries to replicate his action and pushes out with his hands.

The seat of the office chair slowly spins around. A cold shiver slides down Sam’s spine.

Sam says again, “What the _fuck_.”

  


* * *

  


He finds Steve in the shared area of their section of the building — Sam isn’t quite sure if they’re in a single dwelling or a larger unit, he was a bit out of it when they arrived in the dark — and Steve promptly sets down the tablet he was using when Sam somewhat shakily asks him back to his room.

“Sam, you ok?” Steve asks as Sam shuts the door behind them. He’s looking at Sam like he always does, like Sam’s just the best ever, which, okay, Sam can barely really handle on a good day. He sidesteps around Steve, enough to get into the room so he doesn’t have to look back.

“No, man, I’m not, I got —” Sam folds his arms across his chest and drops his chin, hunching in around himself like he could maybe hold himself together this way. 

Steve’s big hand lands over one shoulder. “Whatever you need, okay? Take your time,” Steve says softly.

He can barely give voice to it. “I need you to check me. For. Injection sites.”

Steve’s fingers tighten and he obviously, consciously relaxes them. “What? Sam —”

“I checked where I could,” Sam answers and shrugs off that warm grip, spins and heads for the bathroom and its bright lights. He peels off his t-shirt on the way. “But I can’t see everywhere and —”

“Wouldn’t you rather —”

“No! _Steve_ ,” Sam spins to find Steve almost right behind him, in the doorway to the bathroom. He can feel his body wanting to betray him, to shake and shake, so he takes a deep breath and tries to meet Steve with a more level gaze. “I don’t, in medical — please, just you.”

He can see the moment Steve gets it; his eyes go soft even as his jaw squares up and Sam will never figure out how he manages that. “Like I said, whatever you need.” He steps into the bathroom, right into Sam’s space, and Sam can’t help tensing up even more with the proximity before reminding himself it’s _Steve_ , goddamn it, and dropping to half-sit against the vanity.

“Where am I looking?” 

Sam bows his head. “Behind my ears, back of my neck, between my shoulders,” he rattles off, his gaze on their bare feet: Steve’s big veiny feet bracket Sam’s and it makes him feel weirdly protected. “I figure you could spot anything, with your eyesight.”

“I’m gonna start with your head, okay?” Steve’s voice is soft, his clothes rustle a bit as he picks up his hands. “On your left,” he murmurs, and Sam can hear a touch of a smirk.

“Hah,” he answers just as Steve’s fingers land gently on the side of his head. He lets out a breath, relaxing a little as Steve starts carefully combing through his hair.

Steve keeps his touch gentle but firm; the stroking over Sam’s scalp becomes almost a massage and Sam finds himself starting to let go of the tension he’s been carrying for weeks now. They just breathe together, quiet, while Steve works, both ignoring the random tremors that shake through Sam. Eventually Steve encourages Sam’s head down a bit further to lean against his belly, and Sam shudders with the release of it. Sam can feel him take a breath to speak.

“As much as I appreciate being able to see for myself you’re okay,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick, “why am I doing this, Sam?” His warm fingers skate across Sam’s shoulders in a search grid.

It takes a long moment before Sam can reply, “Think they. Did something, to me.”

Steve’s fingers still, and then his hands spread like wings over Sam’s bruised back. His voice is even, deadly calm. “Did something, like...experimental?”

Sam can’t really nod, but he knows Steve can feel the way he clenches his hands against the vanity. “They woulda had opportunity,” he whispers, knowing Steve will hear the implications of it, that Steve has already put it together with Sam’s bruises and twitchiness.

“What have you —” Steve starts, pauses, rearranges his hands so one spreads across Sam’s back and the other curves around his head in a loose embrace. “Is something...different?”

Reluctant as he is to move from that protective bubble, Sam finds himself straightening and Steve drops his arms to give him room. “I —” he glances around before stepping out of the bathroom. “Look.” And he does what he’d done earlier (more times than he’d admit) — he _pushes_ , hard enough that this time the bedclothes flutter and the office chair resumes a lazy spin.

“Huh,” is all Steve says from behind him.

Sam rounds on him, incredulous. “Seriously?! I discover I can move shit with my mind and all you got is ‘huh’?”

Steve has folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. He looks concerned but not panicked, which helps stall Sam's own feeling of free falling. “Did you mean to move those? Those two things in particular?”

Which stops Sam up short. 

“You didn't, did you?” Steve unfolds from the doorway to step close again. “You're moving things, sure, but I don't think this is like Wanda's gift. There was a breeze in here, when you did it.”

“I closed the windows when I woke up,” Sam replies, automatic, like Steve couldn’t see that for himself.

“Get dressed,” Steve tells him. “then breakfast.” He pats Sam’s chest, big warm paw right over Sam's heart, and makes for the door.

“And then?” Sam can't help asking; he'd seen a glint in Steve's eye. 

“Then we’ll get Wanda and we find out what we’re dealing with. After, maybe,” and Steve comes back to settle his hands on Sam's shoulders and give him a beseeching look, “we go to the doctors? Please?”

Sam considers a long moment, soaking up Steve's warmth and worry in equal measure, before conceding he has a point. “Yeah, that's a plan.”

  


* * *

  


Sam agrees with Steve that Wanda would make a good back-up when they’re testing...whatever this is, but he also successfully argues over breakfast that they shouldn’t spring the whole thing on her at once, given how they found her. (Steve’s fists tighten once before he visibly swallows down his reaction; Sam’s betting there’s a few broken punching bags somewhere.) 

Later, with the sun lighting up the lush green, Wanda joins them in the garden. As Sam suspected, she balks when Steve suggests a few warm-up acrobatics. “No, I haven't — not since the —”

“C’mon, we've done it a million times,” Steve cajoles gently, his tone light but Sam knows how he worries. “We know you won't hurt me, and I think it'll feel good for you. Like stretching.”

She returns his smile with a small one of her own. “Just, something small? Like, maybe —”

“Floor is Lava?” they ask in unison, and that earns a giggle out of Wanda and a snort from Sam, because it’s fucking _adorable_. “Come on!” Steve shouts and leaps onto a bench. “Stone is safe!”

Wanda shrieks and leaps after him. Sam contents himself for a few minutes watching them leap from bench to bench to concrete steps surrounding statuary, Steve’s superhuman leaps sometimes augmented by Wanda’s light and Wanda herself keeping behind him just fine.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to throw himself into the fray because it looks goddamn fun — he’s only done this with Wanda a few times, and he has to fight every instinct that tells him not to even try each big jump ( _he’ll never make it_ ) because at the height of it he feels that little _push_ of wind from Wanda that means he does, he does make it, every time, he throws himself after them with abandon and the garden rings with laughter and their chasing.

Eventually they end up on their backs on the thick grass, even Steve breathing hard. “Man, that was great,” Sam says to the bright sky.

“Mmmm, exactly what I needed,” Wanda agrees and touches Steve’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Steve grins back. “Anytime.”

When Sam thanks Wanda for the lifts she rolls onto her front so she can give him a look. “You’d be welcome, except I didn’t.”

“You — what?”

“Sam —”

Steve sits up. “Wanda, Sam has been experiencing...a change in abilities, since we got here.”

“What?” She sits up, too, pulling away a bit.

“We wanted you here to help us figure it out,” Sam says, very deliberately staying right where he is, flat on the grass.

“You think they, what, they _did_ something to you?” Wanda asks and scoots closer, her expression horrified and empathetic. “Oh, _Sam_.”

“Hey,” Steve says gently, reaching to take hold of both her hand and Sam’s. His grip is comforting. “I looked — he let me check him over, he’s okay, as far as we can tell.” He squeezes Sam’s fingers and meets his gaze, silently asking if Sam’s ready to take the lead.

“I’m...moving things. With my mind, I think.”

Wanda tilts her head. “Like me?”

“Maybe?”

“When he did it inside, there was a breeze where there shouldn’t have been,” Steve offers.

“And you think I was doing it again, just now?” Sam asks him. “Without realizing?”

Steve nods, and Wanda takes a determined breath. “Show me?”

Sam is glad that they asked Wanda to join them; given her experience testing unusual abilities she puts him to tasks that narrow down the parameters of what he can do and how he needs to think in order to do it. It quickly becomes clear that his new ability is nothing like hers.

“It’s air,” she says confidently. “You’re moving _air_ , Sam. I can almost see it.” She grins up at him, and Steve bounces across the grass.

“C’mon, Sam, move me,” he challenges, hands up like he’s going to fight.

“Dude, no.” Sam shakes his head, but Wanda nudges him with her elbow.

“I bet you can, just imagine a wall of air and push.”

“Saaaaaam,” Steve calls. The idiot’s grinning and making a show of planting his feet.

The first push he throws at Steve doesn’t do much more than ruffle his hair and clothes, earning laughs from both Steve and Wanda. “Can’t do it, ‘m staying right here,” Steve teases.

But Sam had felt...something, there, so on the next try he gives in to the way his body wants him light on the balls of his feet, to swivel and step and _push_ out and forward and he answers, 

“No, _you_ move,” and he can almost see the way the air goes thick from his hands and flattens Steve out six feet from where he had been standing.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispers while beside him Wanda whoops and Steve pops up like he’s on springs.

“That was fucking amazing!” Steve yells. 

Yeah, it actually kind of was.

  


* * *

  


The next afternoon, Sam makes good on his promise to Steve and visits the efficient Wakandan doctor who’d examined him before. Steve follows him over and parks in the waiting room with his tablet on his lap, like he fully intends to wait for Sam to be done. “You don’t have to stay,” Sam tells him.

Steve just leans his shoulder against Sam’s as his expression goes soft. “I want to, though.”

While they wait, Sam asks what Steve’s reading, which is apparently a primer on Wakandan government. In the next few days Steve has several meetings to negotiate their current sanctuary and figure out where they’ll go next, so, in typical-Steve all-out-fashion he’s learning about who he needs to talk to and how to navigate protocol (which, frankly, surprises the hell out of Sam, because he never bothered in the States. To which Steve replies, “Well, Captain America could open any door in D.C. I can’t barrel through that way here, and I owe it to the King to learn this system and work inside it.” “Opened my door,” Sam mutters and shakes his head, and he catches a super-sappy smile on Steve’s face).

Dr. Nkosi greets him warmly and comments about how much better Sam looks than just a few days prior, inviting Sam into a room that looks more like a cozy small library than an exam room. He listens attentively and shows no outward reaction as Sam outlines his concerns and what he’s learned since yesterday. He does ask for a demonstration and Sam has figured out enough control to make just the edges of his lab coat flutter, which earns him a thoughtful _hmm_ from Dr. Nkosi. “Would you consent to a biometric scan?” he asks. “The technology is similar to an MRI, but the scan process is somewhat less intense. It may not tell us what we need to know, but I suspect it will yield clues, at least.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agrees, and soon finds himself standing in the middle of a smallish, apparently empty room, his feet on helpful footprint stickers. “You only need to stand still, please,” Dr. Nkosi’s voice instructs over an intercom before several cameras drop from the ceiling. Sam tries, he really does, but he can’t help following the cameras with his eyes — he’s always had a thing for medical-imaging tech and this shit is _amazing_.

Sam only waits in the little library room for a few minutes before Dr. Nkosi joins him. “It will take some time for me to fully review the scan,” he tells Sam as he comes in, “but I also ask your permission for one more thing. I would like to invite a specialist to speak with you, as I believe she will have more insight than I. Would you meet with her?”

Sam hears ‘specialist’ and thinks, “ _Fuck_ ,” which must show on his face because Dr. Nkosi is quick to reassure him. 

“Umakhulu Nokhanyo is a specialist in traditional Wakandan medicine,” he says. “I do not wish to overstep my expertise, but I can tell you that your… abilities are not entirely unheard-of, here in Wakanda. Grandmother will explain better.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees, and Dr. Nkosi ducks back out of the room, leaving Sam at a loss for what to do — he feels weird staying seated so he gets up but then it’s _also_ weird to just...stand by the chair, so eventually he decides to look at the spines of the books along the wall which is stupid, they’re all in Wakandan so it’s not like he’s gonna read —

The soft knock startles him enough that he calls a sharp, “Yeah?” without thought, and he turns to find a small woman with an elaborate headwrap and intricately-folded dress stepping through the door.

“Mr. Wilson,” she greets him warmly, “I am glad to meet you.” She takes his hand and gently tugs him to sit; Sam is utterly charmed and goes easily. “I am Umakhulu Nokhanyo, officially Advisor of Wakanda but you may call me Grandmother.” She shares a smile, and Sam gets the feeling ‘Grandmother’ is as much title as role. “I understand you have some questions for me.”

“Dr. Nkosi said —” Sam starts, but shakes his head. “Do you know what —?” He spreads his hands, helpless. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know where to start.”

Umakhulu Nokhanyo _hmms_ softly and rearranges her skirt. “There have long been stories of ones who can manipulate fire and water, earth and air. When I was a young scholar I earned a travel visa to study with Aboriginal peoples in Australia, as their history is far older, and such abilities show up in their stories, as well. It seems these abilities are tied deeply to spiritual energy; I myself have met one other, here in Wakanda. She bent fire to her will, saved her village.”

“I’m not —” Sam says, but Grandmother holds up a hand to stay him.

“It has nothing to do with religion or belief; spiritual energy is merely another force in the universe. Your Stephen Strange is not the only one who can tap into such things.”

Sam snorts. “He’s not _my_ anything; I have no idea why anybody puts up with him.”

She offers a sly smile and tilts her head, _just so_. “Eight days ago, there was an alignment of stars and planets, a convergence that lasted almost an hour. I believe you were close enough to a rift that allowed spiritual energy to overflow during the convergence, and that it awoke these abilities in you.”

Sam’s body flushes hot followed quickly by shivery cold. It is relief, and incredulity, fear and the release of it and all _too much_. His voice is shaky and small. “So you’re saying, you think —”

Nokhanyo leans forward, her expression soft and her hands warm where they envelop his. “None of this was done to you by your enemies, Sam. This was the universe unlocking a gift you’ve always had.”

Sam doesn’t cry, exactly, but Grandmother doesn’t call attention to the tears that leak out, either.

  


* * *

  


Steve’s whole body goes loose, responding to Sam’s own relaxed posture, when Sam returns to the waiting room. Sam waits till they’re out, walking on quiet sun-dappled paths back to their quarters, to start telling Steve what he’s learned. He doesn’t get much past, “It wasn’t _done to me_ so much as, I guess, I was in the right place at the right time,” before Steve is tugging him into a private little alcove between buildings, gathering him into a supersoldier-sized hug. Sam squeezes back and lets himself finally believe it: he’s okay, this is still _all him_ and he’s just. Gonna have to adjust.

“God, Sam,” Steve murmurs, just audible where he’s got his nose tucked against Sam’s neck. He heaves a shuddery breath that Sam finds himself mirroring. “I know you had it worse, but I was, I was so worried, Sam. I’m so sorry, for all of it.”

“I know you are,” Sam agrees softly. It’s going to take him a while before he can give much more than that, and Steve offers a quick, gentle squeeze around Sam’s ribs, like he gets it.

Steve pulls back just enough to look Sam in the eye, his expression gone determined like Sam’s seen countless times before but never in such quiet. “Can I kiss you? Now?”

A liquid curl of adrenaline slides down Sam’s spine, like he’s about to unfurl his wings and head for the sky. “I thought we agreed, we weren’t going to.” Not after that first, that only hazy kiss after a bad firefight, not in the middle of a manhunt in between Avenging shenanigans.

Steve narrows his eyes and argues, “We agreed the timing was shit. I don’t recall agreeing to _never_ , and I’ve got an excellent memory.”

“So, what, you’ve been biding your time? Waiting to pounce?” That earns him a sly little grin. “What changed? The timing is still shit.” Even as he says it, Sam settles harder against Steve’s torso, soaking up the warm comfort that is two bodies breathing against each other.

“Timing is still shit,” Steve agrees. “But I knew, even as I did it, even when you told me to do it, I can’t.” He takes a deep breath and meets Sam’s gaze. “I can’t leave you behind, Sam. The timing will _always_ be shit, because, fuck. Our lives. But that doesn’t mean we can’t —”

Sam cuts him off with that kiss he was asking for, because when it comes to Steve — well, Sam’s always only ever answered _yes_.

  


* * *

  


Over dinner, he tells the entire team the whole story of the scan, of Dr. Nkosi and Umakhulu Nokhanyo (and carefully leaving the Sam-and-Steve news, because that’s just theirs, for now), finishing with, “They call it _bending_ , in Wakandan lore. Like, bending elements to your will. Grandmother says she may have something, in her library; she wants to work with me.”

“I’m so glad, Sam,” Wanda tells him in between bites of noodles.

“Figures you’d get air, you know, with your flying,” Clint observes. “Hey, why didn’t the rest of us get anything?”

Sam shares a nonplussed look with Steve across the table. “Beats me, man. Grandmother said it was sort of...unlocked potential.”

Scott makes a horrible slurping noise and before anyone can comment asks, “So, can you fly now? Like, without a jetpack?”

“Tic Tac, that is an _excellent_ question.”

  


* * *

  


Turns out, generating enough of a vortex to get him airborne is really only something Ororo is good at. Sam only manages a little float across the garden, but eventually he gets good enough to really zip along, like he’s a puck in an air-hockey game.

He only buzzes Steve on his run once. 

Okay, three times.

  


* * *

  


A few weeks later, Sam gets a package delivered, complete with a handwritten note. “Ororo would like to invite you flying, and Umakhulu Nokhanyo found several sketches in her library. Even warrior kings think twice before refusing Umakhulu or Ororo. Please consider these our gift to you, Airbender. From T’Challa,” Steve reads out loud while Sam pulls the box open and digs through packaging to reveal —

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes.

It’s a wingpack. Smaller than his old one, as it doesn’t need nearly as much tech — the pack is a slim backpack that weighs only about as much as the shield. 

“Sam,” Steve gasps, and they grin at each other and jostle out the door.

They’re only just outside when Sam deploys the wings, and they unfurl gloriously, a longer wingspan than his old ones but light and agile. The undersides are a light matte silver, the tops dark, like a real falcon’s, for camouflage from both above and below.

“I think they’re vibranium,” Steve says reverently, running one fingertip along the edge of a feather.

“They’re fucking beautiful,” Sam agrees, every cell in his being wanting to be in the air.

Suddenly Steve wraps around Sam from behind in a near-crushing hug. “Sam,” he husks in Sam’s ear, and Sam goes shivery for an entirely different reason. “No one is ever going to take the sky from you again.”

Sam turns just enough to land a soft kiss right where Steve’s eyes crinkle as he grins like a loon. “C’mon, let’s go flying.”


End file.
